


The season of the pouring rain

by The Key To Imagine (whiskeywit)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:47:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeywit/pseuds/The%20Key%20To%20Imagine
Summary: Title: The season of the pouring rainRating: RWord count: 3492Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles or their rights, this is merely a work of fiction.A/N: Re-written version of What Getting Soaked Can Turn Into (which must be one of my earliest fics! - you can find it in the J/P archive but not in this community)A/N: Never mind that. It's hardly the same anymore, lol. The beginning more or less resembles what I wrote before but from then on it's ... different. VERY different. Enjoy!Comments are love. x





	

**Author's Note:**

> Backup of old fic originally posted to the Beatles community JohnheartPaul, currently residing on key_to_imagine, currently in locked status. Summary contains the header as is on the LJ post.
> 
> Originally posted pre 03 JANUARY 2009.

The season of the pouring rain  
  
  
John sighed, looking over at Paul.   
  
They were laying in bed, he and Paul, together. Earlier that afternoon Paul had come over to see him, but – as the rain had been pouring down from dark grey skies – Paul had arrived soaked to the skin and cold to the bone. John had wanted to give him some of his own clothes, but he'd discovered the laundry had been washed that morning, and his clothes were still damp.   
  
It had brought along a problem. It was winter after all, and nearly freezing outside. In John's room it certainly felt like it was. Paul was starting to shiver after he'd taken off his shirt – they both figured he wouldn't get ill as quickly if he didn't wear the wet clothes but as Mimi wasn't at home they couldn't ask her – and even if she had been there John probably wouldn't have asked her, as he didn't really like his auntie and she didn't like Paul. Besides, _because_ his aunt wasn't at home, John hadn't gotten dressed yet – he was still walking around in the clothes he usually slept in.  
  
“I'll go and make us some tea,” John had told Paul as he handed the other boy the only old t shirt he could find – and with this the oldest t shirt he owned and didn't wear anymore.  
  
While he was waiting for the water to start boiling, he heard Paul stumble around upstairs. Mimi was off visiting relatives, and John didn't have to go along because he'd told her he wasn't feeling well at all. In reality he was feeling perfectly well, but hey – she didn't have to know everything, did she?  
  
After he'd fetched the tea, he had handed Paul – who was now wearing John's old shirt and his own underwear – a cup and kept the other for himself. Paul was sitting on his bed, and John made him shift over so he could sit next to him, both with their backs against the cold wall. He'd wriggled the duvet from underneath them so it was draped over their legs.   
  
When they had finished drinking their tea, John had put the empty cups on his desk, and Paul had complained about being cold. Together they had decided they would be warmer if they were fully covered by the sheets.  
  
  
So, now they were laying in bed, he and Paul, together. It had been like this for at least half an hour, either of them staring at the white ceiling with the cracks in it that John was so familiar with, from all the nights he'd been lying here as well, awake, staring at it and over thinking things. Other than those nights, he was starting to feel quite tired now, warmed by the other boy's body. Paul barely moved anymore, and John wondered whether he was asleep. He turned his head to look at Paul, and saw he'd closed his eyes.   
  
He supposed Paul wouldn't notice it if he did it now; he couldn't resist it anymore. This was the only way it would be possible to do something without letting Paul freak out.  
  
  
He'd been thinking about it too often, this last year, this year since he first met Paul. All those nights he'd been laying here on his own, staring at the white ceilings with the cracks in it, the ceiling he knew so well now, like it was a landscape in the sky.  
  
  
Then he shifted over so he was laying on his side, his one hand supporting his head while he lifted the other and carefully slid it along Paul's jawline. He felt the boy's soft skin – nearly perfect if it weren't for the first beginnings of a beard. He didn't really want to admit it, but deep inside he knew he'd imagined it would be completely perfect, completely smooth skin. Then again – he'd also imagined Paul waking up and -  
  
He wouldn't, John told himself. No way Paul would be waking up. Not now – he wouldn't let him. Then he continued his discovery, down to Paul's neck – his shoulder – his collarbone, and he could feel the bone right underneath the skin. Then further down, his chest, his side and the slight bumps of the ribs against his fingertips as he slid his hand over them, not daring to press too hard.  
  
Eventually he let his hand rest on Paul's hip, too scared to continue.  
  
  
''John?'' Paul said hoarsely, opening his eyes. It was enough to let John know – only the look in Paul's eyes – that he had felt it, all of it. John felt like he'd been betrayed, caught by one of his best friend in an act of illicit lust and the disability to hold back – control his feelings.  
  
He didn't do anything though, Paul. He only stared at John, his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly and the corner of his mouth showing the smallest hint of a smile. It gave John hope – the hope of Paul liking him, and so he did something he wouldn't dare doing in a thousand years if it weren't for the four-letter word 'love'.   
  
  
He leant in and kissed Paul, not quite knowing why he all of a sudden did have the courage to do so. It was nothing more but a touch of his lips against Paul's, but when he drew back he saw Paul moistening his lips, his pink tongue licking them in a way that could only be described as seducing. The hint of the smile was still playing around the corners of the now glistening lips, and John couldn't imagine this was not meant for him.  
  
This time Paul leant in, and kissed John, properly this time. The thoughts in John's head mixed up until it was nothing more than a flurry of thoughts, only fragments of images and sounds, mixing with the rustling of the blankets and their shirts sliding over skin.  
  
  
He placed a hand between Paul's legs, cupping his groin and feeling the arousal growing – because of him. Paul started to push back into the palm of his hand, without even breaking the kiss for as much as a second, and John could feel a strange feeling grow in his stomach – a bit like when he fancied a girl, but much stronger (and there really was no need to pretend this shocked him because he'd been aware of feeling this for Paul before, he only didn't want Paul to know). He didn't get a lot of time to think about it though.  
  
Paul mirrored his actions, and so John rubbed against Paul's warm hand while still kissing him, feverishly trying to get nearer but he couldn't, his other hand sliding under Paul's – no, his – t shirt and he realised this wasn't quite the same as wanking or being with a girl but not bad either- not at all, he supposed he could get used to this. It was definitely no less erotic, even though it was no flesh-on-flesh contact. Quite the sensation. He could feel Paul's hardness pressing against his hand through the damp fabric, the hotness, and everything else he was used to – but not quite. Paul was probably feeling the same.   
  
After squeezing, he could hear Paul's moan reverberating in his mouth, their tongues still sliding together in a kind of wetness he didn't mind – opposed to the pouring rain outside – and the feeling of Paul coming against his hand. He could feel the sticky fluid dribble over his fingers, soaking through the fabric of his pants, and before long John, too, was coming, pulling away from the kiss and burying his head in Paul's neck.  
  
   
Then they were only laying, he and Paul, together. On their backs they were staring at the ceiling, watching the cracks with blurry vision and see them morph into shapes that were hardly distinguishable as landmarks but rather clouds – and he felt like it, felt like he was on cloud nine.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
Trying to think about other things than music didn't work, not while John was playing on his guitar. It was mostly because, if he did, he forgot about everything but playing, only hearing the melody he produced himself and the drums and bass that were supposed to be supporting the music. Usually he had to strum rather quietly, and he would hum along rather than sing because it was quieter and most of the time he didn't know the exact lyrics - Paul had made this painfully clear when they had first met.   
  
  
Because of this very same reason, he sat down on his bed and only looked out of the window, watching the clouds clot together in dark towers, and closer to him the roofs of the houses of Woolton, _thinking_. Looking at the sky made him think it would start rain soon, and if he was honest - he felt quite a bit like the weather, not feeling too great right now.  
  
  
Paul hadn't talked to him in a couple of days, and he was starting to become paranoid, pretty sure he'd made the wrong move and had only – without realising himself – tricked him into some kind of game. Paul probably regretted it now. He wondered whether it had felt as good to Paul as it had to him, but he was starting to doubt it.  
  
Maybe Paul was in denial though, but this, as well as most other things, was a bit silly too. He couldn't explain why but it just didn't make any sense. He knew it hadn't felt better because Paul was a boy, but because it was Paul – Paul would have to feel at least _something_ for him because otherwise there was no chance he could have felt all those emotions, was there?  
  
  
He cursed quietly. Ever since Paul had played Twenty Flight Rock for him, on the fete, he'd been infatuated with him and he'd hardly been able to think about anything else than Paul and music. He hadn't even had the chance – not really – to think about what would happen if something like this would happen.  
  
  
Hell – what was he complaining about. He might just as well take the initiative and visit Paul. It could, after all, be that Paul was as scared by all – developments of a couple of days ago as John himself was.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
Paul answered the door, or rather said: he opened it but did _not_ answer.   
  
  
“Hey,” John muttered as he walked past Paul, not awaiting the invite. Paul walked to his room, and he probably expected John to follow him anyway – they still didn't speak though.   
  
  
“We may need to talk, I guess,” he said when Paul closed the door behind him.   
  
  
“There's nothing to talk about,” Paul replied. “Is there?”  
  
  
“There is, I suppose,” John said, “because you haven't come over to see me the past couple of days and I was wondering...”  
  
  
“I had to visit family,” Paul said, although John thought he saw Paul was starting to blush – he wasn't sure though, it might very well have been his imagination. “That's all.”  
  
  
Then they just sat there, side by side, on Paul's bed, staring at the bedroom door. The both of them were distracted by their own, private thoughts, and John wondered what he had to do now. It was feeling really rather uncomfortable to be just sitting here, John found.   
  
  
“What would you like to do now?” Paul asked him eventually, right at the moment when John was growing bored of thinking and really, it didn't help that Paul was sitting next to him. He heard the boy breathe, heard it whenever he shifted or straightened his shirt or touched his hair or changed his position or whatnot more.   
  
  
“Dunno,” John replied. “I might as well go, I guess.” He looked at Paul, who stared back at him as if he didn't want John to go. “Unless there's something we could do?” he asked.  
  
  
“I know something...” Paul said, sounding slightly uncertain. “'s just... I don't know how you'll think about it.”  
  
  
“Show me, then,” John said, grinning at Paul, who still looked down at the floor. Then he got up from the bed, and assuming they would be going somewhere John got up as well. Paul, however, locked his bedroom door and then turned to John.  
  
  
“I've wanted... to do this for quite some time now,” Paul whispered, his brows furrowed but his eyes closed, all seen by John right before Paul grabbed John's collar and pushed him against the wooden doors of the wardrobe, their bodies clashing and barely a time to breathe before their lips collided.   
  
  
Huh, well, that was unexpected, John thought. He didn't complain though – he never would. Then Paul's hands were tangled in his hair, nearly pulling at it but not quite – enough to make it feel messy though, not enough to make it hurt. Paul's lips were soft but not in the way a girls' would be, pushing against John's with a strength and need he wasn't quite familiar with, and hadn't experienced a couple of days back when they had first kissed. He didn't quite taste like a girl either – this was stale smoke and a musky smell around him, sweaty even, and John thought Paul mustn't have had a shower in a couple of days – but again, he didn't complain because it was nice, a nice change from the usual. Very nice.  
  
John put his own hands in Paul's neck, his thumbs right behind his ears, right where the hair started, and kissed him back with the same solid passion Paul was using on him. The wardrobe, however, wasn't standing as solid against the wall and the weight of John's body against it, along with Paul leaning into John, made the doors of it rattle and John prayed nobody would hear them. He hadn't seen Mike around, and Paul's father was outside, in the garden, but there still was a chance.   
  
Paul didn't seem to worry about anything. Whenever John tried to open his eyes, he saw nothing but Paul's face, blurry because of the closeness. Occasionally they broke the kiss, which meant they were gasping for breath, blowing warm air in the other boy's face because neither of them seemed able to get any further away.  
  
“Jesus,” John breathed when they broke apart once more, and his eyes locked briefly with Paul's, before the younger boy smiled – perhaps a bit shy but definitely with a hint of lust – and started to suck in his neck. John was pretty sure Paul had left behind a love-bite, but he didn't bother to care, not right now. Then Paul placed his hands on John's hips, right where his shirt stopped, and as he slid them upwards he took John's shirt along, and it felt so good, the touch of warm fingers occasionally bumping against his skin, until the moment he pulled the shirt over John's head. Although Paul's room was a lot warmer than his own, the difference between the cool air and Paul's body which radiated heat, was pretty big.   
  
He leant his head back against the wardrobe as Paul moved down again, kissing his chest now and occasionally nipping at it with his teeth, or sucking it to leave more, small love bites behind. The mix of slight pain and loads of pleasure, warm wet pleasure, made John feel weak in his knees and he was barely able to swallow the moans he felt rising in his throat. In the mean time Paul's fingers were working on the button of his trousers, and John could've sworn it took the younger boy so long on purpose because they had been resting in the area of his groin for quite some time now and he still hadn't managed to pop the button out of its hole. Whenever he looked down, though, he could only see Paul's face – his closed eyes that would occasionally flutter open, looking up to see him, to see John, and then close again so only his long, black eyelashes were visible. His dark hair would occasionally tickle against John's chest, and as he moved down towards John's belly, the skin became more and more sensitive. He felt the warm breathe escape from Paul's nose and mouth, short gasps of breath, his hair soft and his nose felt cold, the times when it would occasionally bump against John's warm skin.  
  
Then, at last, Paul opened his trousers and slid them down John's hips. He looked up at John, and then stood up, kissing him again, and gently pushing him towards the bed, his hands on John's chest.  
  
John stopped him, though, when the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. He grabbed Paul's wrists and looked at him intently. When he let go of Paul's arms, Paul let them go limp next to his body, waiting for John to make the next move and so he did.  
  
First his shirt. John marvelled at how Paul's stomach moved when he breathed, at how pale his skin was compared to the dark hairs that seemed to grow nearly everywhere, even though he only was seventeen. The dark trail of hair that led up to his naval. And there was not only that, but also how Paul's breathing was erratic and his eyes were lid, nearly drooping shut, and there was a lazy smile on his face. He was standing on unsteady feet, swaying lightly back and forth, and he was waiting for something – John.  
  
Then his trousers. There was no time for kissing in between now, and John wriggled Paul's drainies off his hips so quickly that, only by accident, his underwear slid down as well. It was a bit unexpected – suddenly facing Paul's hard dick, but John also saw the hilarity of the situation and had to lick the tip because he'd been curious as to how it would taste for quite some time now – it was warm, and hard, and especially a strange combination of salt and bitter which made him wrinkle his nose. He heard Paul make a strangled noise, and when he looked up he saw goosebumps had appeared all over his body, and he'd closed his eyes again, biting on his lip so it was starting to colour a dark shade of red. It made John wonder whether there was blood, so he stood up again and kissed Paul again, then sucked on his lower lip which made Paul form a proper moan this time, rumbling deep in his chest.   
  
There were hands on his own back, Paul's hands, sliding down towards his arse so his pants fell to the floor and his own erection was freed as well, bumping against Paul's. It made the both of them gasp, flesh against flesh once again, and John lay down on the bed, on his back, after which Paul lay down atop of him. They didn't bother to draw the curtains, although John wondered whether they should as Paul had a view on the street and people might be able to peer in from the outside – but, _oh shit_.  
  
Paul started to stroke his dick while he was lifting his hips, leaning with his chest against John, so he had a bit more space to touch. John shifted a bit so he could see what Paul was doing, and was forced to close his eyes again when he saw Paul was working on himself as well. It wasn't really what John wanted, though – he needed _contact._ Pulling at Paul's shoulders drew his attention back to John's face, and John lifted his eyebrows while he tried to pull Paul's arms away from between their bodies, and finally Paul seemed to get his hint and let his body crash into John's.  
  
  
That was what he'd been waiting for, the past couple of days now.   
  
  
Biting back his moans became harder, and Paul was having a struggle with it as well. Their erections were rubbing together and the heat increased because of the friction. John slid his arms around Paul's back, his nails scratching at the skin now slick with sweat, and Paul buried his head in John's neck in an attempt to muffle the sound of his moans.   
  
John could feel how Paul went rigid atop of them, first relaxing and then tensing before he came all over John's stomach, the thick and sticky fluid serving as an extra lubricant for John and while he threw back his head, his back arching up and his hips moving on accord of themselves, he too came.  
  
  
Paul had collapsed atop of them, the both of them still trying to catch their breath while John finally had the guts to say something, really say something about this.  
  
  
“This certainly is a very pleasant new way to spend our time.”  
  
  
He felt Paul's smile against his skin, and knew it was all right. This.  
  
  
  
~The End


End file.
